Memories and Scars
by MintSauce
Summary: Mickey didn't know when his life got boring, he also didn't know why it got less so when Ian Gallagher walked through the door. One-Shot.


**Another random one-shot…**

Mickey sat at the bar, bored to fuck and only half watching the people in the room. If there was a problem someone would shout him and he knew there would be a problem eventually. A part of him couldn't actually wait until that was, because he was fucking bored.

He took a pull from the cigarette trapped between two of his fingers and blew smoke out of his nostrils, like those bulls in the cartoons that he'd used to watch with Mandy when they were kids. He couldn't remember the name of them, didn't particularly care either if he was being honest.

The bartender, a tall slender girl with dyed blonde hair and some of the darkest blue eyes Mickey had ever seen stalked over – literally stalked, like he was prey or some shit – and snatched the cigarette out of his hand, stubbing it out on the top of the bar.

"You know you're not allowed to smoke in here," she hissed at him, her eyes narrowing, "And I'm not getting the blame if you get your ass fired." He could tell that she was sort of surprised that it hadn't happened yet. He usually couldn't hold down a job this long, he suspected it was probably because she was here to keep him in line.

"Get me a fucking beer then and give me something to do," he replied, needing something to do with his hands, "It's not my fault I'm bored to shit sitting here."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Hope someone starts a fight then or something," she replied, "And you're not supposed to be drinking when you're on duty, you know that." But she handed him a pint anyway.

He cracked a smile, but knew it was probably more of a smirk. His smiles always were these days. "Thanks cuz," he muttered and drained a third of the beer in one go. He drank a lot these days as well, smoked more and it was all because he was bored.

Life had used to be interesting, but it was just sort of like everything was changing and he was staying exactly the same.

Mandy had no husband, but a toddler and Mickey rented an apartment with her because someone had to make sure she didn't accidentally kill the brat and her cooking wasn't half bad. She worked as a waitress in one of the café's and always came home with shit loads of tips because Mickey knew she undid several more buttons than she was supposed to on her shirt as soon as she was out of the apartment.

His cousin, Rissa, worked with him at the bar, she was the only reason he had the job in the first place. Rissa was married to a douchebag with nerdy wire-rimmed glasses and since she hated kids, she'd gotten a dog, a strange mutt thing that always tried to bite Mickey's feet when he went around to her house. So he never went around. Mickey had his own dog, it was definitely a lot cooler and scared the shit out of people, so it wasn't like he didn't like dogs or anything. He just didn't like _her_ dog. The thing was stupid.

None of that was the problem though, it was just that he was always bored out of his mind.

He'd been to jail once after his two stints in Juvie, this time for defacing public property and knew he'd probably go there again knowing his luck, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Sometimes he thought that his work pretty much summed up the way his life went, he was just constantly sitting around and waiting for something to happen, for somebody to need him to do something and then he was going right back to sitting around waiting.

He knew he was waiting for something, but he didn't know what it was.

Okay, that was a lie. He knew what it was, he just didn't want to admit it. Not even to himself, because it was fucking stupid.

A woman walked up and put her hand on his arm, leaning in close in a way he knew was supposed to emphasise her breasts, but all he could think was that he thought he was going to choke on the smell of her perfume. It smelt like sick, or maybe that was just her in general, he didn't know.

"Hey there," she said, stroking her fingers along her forearms and he flinched slightly, just a slight twitching in his eye. He hated this part of his job, the part where girls kept walking up to him and trying to be all provocative or some shit.

"Not going to happen love," Rissa said, her hand clamping down on the woman's wrist and lifting it off of Mickey's arm, "Trust me." There was a layer of suppressed venom in her voice and Mickey couldn't help but smile. He thought it was weird that his cousin felt the need to protect him, even if she was two years older than he was. It was still supposed to be the other way around. He knew that.

Mandy did it as well sometimes, stuck up for him or chased someone away from talking to him like he had some sign on him that said, "I'm incapable of looking after myself now, do it for me please." He thought it was stupid, but he couldn't be bothered to comment.

It was easier to just let them do it.

"What is it about your cranky ass that attracts them?" she asked, leaning against the bar.

He shrugged, "Maybe the fact that I pay absolutely no fucking attention to them."

She snorted, which he thought was really unlady-like, but then again, Rissa was a Milkovich so she was entitled to her butch moments. "You think that would make then realise the real reason why, wouldn't you?"

Mickey trusted Rissa, trusted Mandy to and that was the only reason why they knew. Nobody else knew, not unless he'd fucked them and he liked it staying that way. Then again, he hadn't actually told Rissa or his sister either, Rissa had guessed and asked Mandy and Mandy had apparently had a moment of realisation or some shit and confronted him about it and for some reason he'd chosen not to lie.

"Hey Mick?" she asked, flipping off a couple of people who were shouting at her for drinks, because she really was a friendly person and all that, "What's up?"

She was staring at her in what he thought of as her therapy way, like she thought some part of him needed fixing and that she was going to be the one to do it. Mickey wouldn't have talked to her anyway, but it just firmed up his point that she was trying to play therapist, Mickey didn't do therapy, thought it was bullshit.

"Nothing," he replied, "I'm just bored."

She glared at him. "Bullshit," she said and he didn't know whether or not it actually was, "That's been your excuse constantly lately."

He shrugged, hearing glass break across the room and the sound of flesh hitting flesh. "What makes you think it's an excuse?" he tossed over his shoulder as he went to pull apart the two men and throw them out the door.

The only thing was that he was pretty positive he didn't want to know the answer to the question he'd just asked her.

He banged the two guys who were fighting's heads together just because it was amusing and then kicked them out of the bar. Rubbing his bottom lip, he felt himself slip back into his boredom, but the fact that there was a fresh beer in front of his seat didn't make him feel a little bit better.

"Mandy says she's stopping by later," Rissa said and she poured out some shots for someone, "An old friend or something is in town, she just thought she ought to warn you."

He frowned, "Why the fuck would I need warning about that, I don't give a shit about her friends?"

_Unless_. . . but no, that was impossible, he was probably off getting his ass shot off or something.

"Yeah well the message was don't stare and try to be nicer than usual," she shrugged and then moved off to serve some more people who were shouting her. Mickey knew he wouldn't have had the patience to work behind the bar like she did, but he couldn't help but think that it probably sounded more interesting.

But then again, his job was basically an excuse to get involved in fights and even if it was only for a few minutes, that killed his boredom.

"Mickey!"

Rissa jabbed her finger across the bar to where one of the guys Mickey had just kicked out was walked back in. Muttering under his breath, he pushed out of his seat and walked over. He could see the guy tense when he saw Mickey and Mickey sort of liked that.

"You fucking stupid or something?" he asked when he got closer, aware that people were watching but really not caring in the slightest, he was doing his fucking job, he couldn't get in trouble for it, "Or do you genuinely not know that when I kick you out, you're supposed to fucking piss off?"

The guy smirked, which pissed Mickey off, because really, it was just asking for it.

"And who the fuck is supposed to make me stay away, you?" he looked Mickey up and down and sneered.

And it wasn't like Mickey didn't know he was short, but still, that was just insulting.

It probably wasn't proper conduct or whatever, probably wasn't how he was supposed to handle to situation, but he didn't really care. The need to do something, to do something like he'd used to was practically strangling him. Without hesitating, without even thinking, Mickey slammed his hands into the other guy's chest, forcing him backwards through the door.

The guy recovered pretty quickly and swung at him, but Mickey ducked and his fist connected with the guy's jaw. Mickey grinned, couldn't help it, he just grinned. He hadn't felt this alive in a while. He grabbed the guy behind his head then, his fingers digging into his neck and brought his knee up at the same time as he pulled down. There was a crunch and Mickey did think that chances were he'd probably just lost his job, but he didn't care.

The guy stayed on the floor when Mickey pushed him away.

Mickey cracked his neck, turning his head from side to side. That had been short, but sweet. He felt good. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this good. "If you want to try and come in again, you're welcome to," he said, rubbing a thumb over his tattooed knuckles, loving the familiar soreness there.

Yeah, he was happy.

Unfortunately, it didn't seem like fate wanted his good mood to last.

Someone snorted off to his left and he recognised that snort, because he'd grown up with it. "Having fun there, Mick?" Mandy asked and it wasn't that part that felt like someone had just kneed him in the stomach. No, it was when he turned and saw her _friend_.

He hadn't gotten any taller and he was still thin even though he had bulked up a little bit. His hair was cut short, still as red as it always had been. Basically, he hadn't changed at all, but it wasn't the basic part of the guy that Mickey's gaze was drawn to.

The freckles splattering his face weren't the only thing there anymore. Cuts littered one side of his face, marred it slightly, standing out pink against his pale flesh. A particularly vicious one under his eye captured Mickey's attention and he didn't know why. He was wearing a short sleeved t-shirt and Mickey could see that more scars, the same small, lines littered it and it sort of made Mickey think of someone who'd rolled through brambles.

He suspected that they covered almost the entire length of that side of his body, the flesh he couldn't see scarred just as much as the flesh he could. He remembered what Mandy's message had said about not staring, it made sense now.

"Fuck Gallagher," he said and from the way Mandy glared at him, he knew that had sounded insensitive, but he hadn't meant it about the scars. He didn't care about the scars, actually thought they were kind of badass, sort of hot in a fucked up way. He'd noticed the scars, but they didn't bother him, they weren't what he was looking at when he kept staring at Ian. "You look fucking weird without a smile on your face."

And Mickey didn't know why that was what he noticed, it just was. He was so used to Ian smiling, had become so accustomed to it that now it was just weird that he wasn't. It was like his face didn't quite look right without that shit eating grin on it that Mickey had loved to hate.

He seriously doubted that he could have explained any of that to either Ian or his sister though and he didn't particularly want to either.

"What?" Ian looked surprised, like even he had thought Mickey was talking about the scars.

Mickey tried not to look annoyed that apparently Ian didn't understand him so well anymore.

"You're not smiling," he repeated, stating the obvious, "You're normally always fucking smiling about something."

Mandy frowned at him, obviously not knowing why the hell that would matter to Mickey, but he didn't care. He could tell from the way that Ian's eyes seemed to light up that he understood.

Since he was outside already, Mickey pulled out a cigarette and lit it, blowing spoke out of his nostrils as he carried on watching Ian. He was just waiting for him to smile, waiting for him to look anything other than depressed.

"What am I supposed to be smiling about?" Ian asked carefully, seeming to be watching Mickey just as intently as he was being watched. It made Mickey squirm, made him wish he looked a little better than he did, that he didn't have huge bags under his eyes. Then he remembered that thinking stuff like that was fucking stupid, so he stopped. Or at least tried to stop.

Mickey shrugged, "How the fuck am I supposed to know, do I look like I smile either?"

That got a smirk, but it still wasn't a smile. "You look tired, Mick," Ian said and Mickey wondered why the fuck he would care about something like that.

He rubbed a thumb over his bottom lip, thinking about what he could say to that.

"Yeah he doesn't sleep much anymore," Mandy said for him, like she often did now, assuming Mickey couldn't answer for himself.

"I do have a tongue in my head you know," Mickey retorted and she looked stunned that he'd actually managed to gather up enough emotion to say that with conviction. Normally he just couldn't be bothered.

For some reason, that got Ian to smile and Mickey didn't know why.

"What you smiling at now, Gallagher?" he asked, not liking the fact that the guy could still confuse the shit out of him. The again, he also didn't like the way something inside of him seemed to unwind when Ian smiled, like he really had been waiting for it or some shit like that.

"Nothing," the redhead said quickly, rubbing the scar under his eye that Mickey had been drawn to earlier.

Mickey didn't know why, but he licked his lips.

"You're still fucking weird," he muttered, flicking away the end of his cigarette and rocking back on his heels slightly. He didn't know what to say now, had never had to know normally because Ian had always been the one to do the talking.

Mandy hit him on the arm, "Can you not be nice for like ten fucking minutes, seriously?"

He shrugged, "It's probably freak him out if I was nice and you know I don't fucking _do_ nice."

Mandy snorted. "That guy you took home the other day was nice," she said, "So you sorta do."

Mickey pulled a face and shuddered slightly, remembering that night. "Yeah and never again," he told her firmly.

"Why, he was cute?" she laughed, "I would have done him if he hadn't been gay."

"You really wouldn't have," he muttered, "It looked like he had a fucking Twiglet down there, felt like it too."

That sent Mandy into hysterics. "I do love your way of phrasing things sometimes," she muttered, wiping under her eyes.

That was when Mickey made the mistake of looking at Ian.

He was staring at him, his expression unreadable, but Mickey thought astounded was probably the best way to describe it. "What?" Mickey asked him, because it was kind of freaking him out the way Ian was looking at him.

Mandy looked between them and swore softly under her breath. "Fuck Mick, I didn't think, sorry," she said quickly, "But hey, Ian's gay as well, so I really don't think he's going to care or anything."

"You came out?" Ian asked slowly, sounding like that had been the furthest thing he'd been expecting.

Mickey snorted, "Yeah well it wasn't exactly intentional, she kind of guessed."

Ian smiled again and Mickey thought the redhead was actually pleased. Why the fuck he would actually be pleased over the fact Mickey had finally come out he didn't know, it wasn't like it had anything to do with Gallagher anymore.

_But you wish it did_, that stupid part of his brain that he wished he could tear out muttered to him.

"Hold on, you _knew_?" Mandy asked, but neither of them answered her because it was pretty obvious, "Why the hell did you tell him and not me, I didn't even think you two were friends?" She glared at Mickey.

He just shrugged, "I didn't tell him."

He didn't he'd ever actually said the words anyway. Not to Ian.

"Yeah, you just let me stick my dick up your ass," Ian said, rolling his eyes and Mickey thought he seemed just like he had done when they were teenagers in that moment. It was like he hadn't changed at all.

But then of course, Mandy had to fucking ruin it, didn't she?

"Oh my God!" she said, her eyes bugging out of her head in a way that really wasn't attractive, "_You_ _two_?"

Mickey didn't know how the hell she'd managed to make that sound like an insult.

"Fuck off," he said, "It's not that surprising."

She looked at him incredulously, obviously thinking that yeah, it really was. "I thought he actually had taste," she said, jerking her thumb at Ian.

"Fuck you then," he said, turning around and pushing his way back into the bar.

He wasn't really offended, but he figured that was as good a time as any to go back inside. He still didn't really know why the hell she was so surprised though, it wasn't that surprising that Ian would have fucked someone like him. Was it?

They sat down next to him at the bar and Mickey felt unusually tense with Ian sitting so close to him. He didn't know why, but looking at Ian now, he had a feeling the guy was fragile. He'd never used to be fragile and Mickey sort of hated that war had made him so. "Who's looking after the brat, anyway?" he asked his sister, because someone had to ask and make sure that it wasn't sitting in the apartment on its own sticking its fingers into plug sockets.

That and the silence between them was eating away at him inside.

"Tina," Mandy replied, like Mickey actually knew who the fuck that was.

"You did feed Bruno, didn't you?" he asked, something he actually did care about. And not just because if she hadn't done, they were going to have even more ripped up furniture.

She pulled a face, "Yeah, but I put my shoes in the fucking closet anyway."

Mickey snorted, "Yeah, because that means they're safe." If Bruno wanted those shoes, he'd get them, whether or not he had to chew through the door.

"Who's Bruno?" Ian asked, already having guzzled down half of his beer like it was a lifeline. Mickey wondered if he was still a lightweight.

"Mickey's fucking dog," Mandy replied, her love for the creature obvious in her tone.

"Oy, leave him alone, I put up with the brat, you can be nice about Bruno," Mickey said, glaring at her.

They sat in silence for another minute.

"My first pet was called Bruno," Ian said randomly, "It was a goldfish."

Mickey pushed his fingers into his eyes and squeezed them shut tightly, praying that Gallagher wouldn't make the connection. Because then Mickey would just seem fucking stupid and it would prove that Mickey had actually used to listen to the random crap Ian talked about.

"So, how was war?" he asked to stop Ian thinking too much about the name of his dog.

Ian's face fell a little, his eyes seemed to cloud over and Mickey knew he was going to lie even before he spoke. "It was fine," Ian said, "What sort of dog have you got?"

"Pitbull and Lab cross," Mickey said, "But he's more pitbull."

"He's fucking ugly," Mandy put in and Mickey threw a bar mat at her.

"Mick, slow the fuck down drinking that, you're not having another," Rissa said, looking at him sternly when she walked over and saw his pint was almost finished. She frowned when she looked at him, "Why do you look happy all of a sudden?"

And Mickey wanted to throw something at her for saying that, because that was just going to get fucking ideas in Gallagher's head. "Bitch, shut up and stop thinking I'm depressed," he said, glaring at her and silently trying to communicate that she should keep her trap shut.

Rissa eyes flicked over to Ian and they all noticed the way her eyes widened ever so slightly. And because she was completely tactless and about as soulless as everybody thought Mickey was, she didn't have any qualms about asked, "What the fucking happened to you?"

Ian flinched, the action seeming entirely involuntary and Mickey's fingers tensed around his beer glass. He didn't know why.

"Roadside bomb went off," he replied, his voice bitter, "Landed on a load of fucking barbed wire."

Rissa grimaced. "Ouch, bet that shit hurt," she said and if she'd had half a brain she would have left it at that and walked away, but she didn't, "Can they not do nothing about it, or are you gonna look like that forever?"

Mickey guessed that he was probably lucky that he hadn't lost an eye.

"Rissa, just fuck off and leave it yeah?" he said, glaring at her with a lot more emotion than he had done before, "It really isn't your fucking business." It wasn't anybody's business, Ian just needed to learn how to tell people that.

She looked surprised that he'd said something, all of them did.

"I was just asking," she said, pouting ever so slightly.

"Well don't," he retorted, "Cause their ain't shit wrong with his fucking face."

And he meant that, because there wasn't.

They were all staring at him, looking surprised and confused. But it was the way that Ian was slowly starting to smile at him, like he was finally seeing some part of Mickey had hadn't realised was there. And Mickey had to go, he had to get out of there and get away from the way that Gallagher was looking at him.

"Gotta pee," he muttered, pushing away from the bar and shouldering his way through the crowd, not caring who he walked into, just needing to get out of there where they were all staring at him, all judging him.

The bathroom was empty, but he saw Ian walk in behind him, had sort of known he would follow. He didn't say anything, just watched Mickey in the mirror as he splashed some cold water on his face and straightened up.

"So how was it really?" Mickey asked, turning around, because he couldn't be bothered to wait for Ian to speak. The redhead obviously wanted to say something, but Mickey didn't have the patience to wait for him to pussyfoot about.

Mickey didn't miss the way Ian flinched ever so slightly. "Horrible," he admitted and then in the same breath said, "I missed you."

He looked at Mickey through his eyelashes, like they were teenagers again. He cringed slightly as Mickey backed him up against the wall, obviously expecting Mickey to follow through on the numerous promises he had made concerning what would happen if Ian ever said soppy shit like that. If Gallagher could have heard Mickey's heart as it thundered away in his chest though, he wouldn't have looked so concerned.

Mickey trying to inconspicuously breathe in the scent of Gallagher now that they were this close, letting it wrap around him like a sort of comfort blanket. He slowly slid his thigh up in between both of Ian's and smirked as the younger guy shivered. He leant in closer, his hard dick throbbing in his pants as he leant in closer and dragged his teeth up the side of Ian's neck. He'd never admit it, but he sort of loved how the redhead was taller than him. He didn't know why.

"Prove it," he growled, his hands closing over Ian's hips and pulling their crotches together. And Mickey could feel how hard Ian was, it made him shiver and have to bite back a moan because he didn't think he'd ever felt anything so good in his life.

He only just had the mind to flick the lock closed on the door before Ian's fingers curled around the back of his neck and their mouths were mashed together before Mickey could even think to remember that they didn't do this. That they had never done this.

He couldn't think why not though after a few seconds, because he couldn't find a single fucking thing that he would rather be doing and he definitely couldn't find anything wrong with it. Ian's fingers dug hard into the back of his neck and his tongue pushed against the seam of Mickey's lips, so he opened for him without hesitation, without thinking twice about it.

Mickey let his hands roam over the front of Gallagher's chest, pushing his hands up under his shirt and digging his fingers into the sides of Ian's body. He could feel the bumps on Ian's flesh that he knew were scars and he swiped his thumb over one line, tracing it at the same time as he sucked Ian's tongue into his mouth.

Ian tensed and Mickey knew why, he could see Ian's shame for the marks in his eyes. And Mickey hated that, hated that Gallagher would be ashamed of that. He knew it wasn't something that he normally would have done, knew it wasn't in his nature to give a shit or to be caring like that, but this was Gallagher, he just _had_ to.

He pulled back slightly and pulled his hands from underneath Ian's shirt, trapping his head and slowly running his thumb over the scar that had fascinated him before, the one right underneath his eye.

Ian shivered and tried to pull away, but Mickey would let him. "Mick, don't," he said, his voice broken and his breathing still heavy, but there was a panicked look in his eyes, like he thought Mickey would run from him now. Mickey thought for a second that that roadside bomb must have knocked a couple of brain cells out of Ian's head, because if Mickey hadn't cared about the fucking scars when he'd started kissing him, why would he care now? Really, it was simply logic. Gallagher was just being stupid.

"Why not?" Mickey asked, running his thumb over it again.

He really didn't know why, couldn't explain why, but he liked that scar. He wasn't fussed about the others, didn't even really notice them, but he _liked _that one. Ian squirmed again, trying to get away, but it seemed more out of habit than anything else. It was like he wanted to see what Mickey was going to do, because he obviously still didn't understand.

"That one's mine," he muttered, smirking when Ian frowned, running his thumb over the scar again, "Just like this one." And he bit Ian hard then, right on the side of his neck hard enough that he tasted blood and that he knew there would be a mark for a while.

Ian moaned softly and moved, grinding against Mickey's leg that was still in between both of his.

"I don't understand you sometimes," he said when Mickey pulled back, removing his leg.

Mickey smirked again and shrugged, "You don't have to."

He palmed Gallagher's dick through his trousers, loving the way the redhead's breathing stuttered, faltering and his fingers dug even harder into Mickey's shoulders, his short nails biting into flesh.

Mickey almost laughed when Ian flipped them around so that he was the one pinning Mickey against the door. It was like they were teenagers again, like all of these years had never happened and Ian had never left to go off to war. They were kissing again thought before Mickey could get that laugh out and he felt Ian's fingers on his belt, shivered when a hand slipped inside and Ian's fingers curled around his length.

He bit down on Ian's bottom lip roughly before Ian's hands on his sides were turning him around, bracing him against the door. And it wasn't about foreplay, it wasn't about being gentle, just like it had never been.

It was about how fast Gallagher could roll on a condom and the two fingers he sucked on before pressing them into Mickey's ass. It was about the first sting of intrusion and the way Ian would push up the back of Mickey shirt, pulling off his own so that he could run his hands over Mickey's bare flesh. It was about teeth biting into Mickey's shoulder and Ian gripping his hips so hard he knew there was going to be bruises.

It was about the small moans Mickey would grind out, the muttered swear words as Ian hit the right spot. It was about the sound of flesh on flesh and the feel of denim rubbing against Mickey's thighs every time Ian slammed himself home. It was about ownership, about proving in their silent, brutal way that no matter how much time passed, they still belonged to each other, they still knew each other.

The stuff Mickey didn't mean for it to be about, the stuff that was different was how Mickey's fingers found Ian's on his stomach and gripped them tight. It wasn't supposed to be about how Ian's bites to Mickey's shoulder became kisses, became a tongue flicking out to taste the sweat there. It wasn't supposed to be about how Mickey turned his head without thinking about it and ran his tongue over Ian's bottom lip, seeking a kiss he shouldn't have wanted.

It was supposed to be about fucking, nothing more, but it wasn't. Mickey didn't know why it had changed, didn't know why it meant more, why it meant everything, he knew it just did. He couldn't have explained how the slight pain he felt as Ian's nails dug into his hipbones made him feel more alive than he had ever been in years.

Usually this would have been the moment when he would have been pushing back against the person fucking him, jerking himself off frantically to get to the end, to finish. But Mickey wasn't doing that, he wasn't complaining when Ian slowly down slightly, or when he stopped for a minute, embedded in Mickey to the hilt, just to that he could drag out the kiss Mickey hadn't meant to have started.

Ian wasn't supposed to laugh when he rolled his hips and saw Mickey's eyes cross. Mickey wasn't supposed to swear at him to do it again, practically beg, because Mickey wasn't supposed to care.

And he certainly wasn't supposed to think that the end was coming too soon. It seemed to creep up on him and he gripped Ian's hand harder, pushing back slightly as he felt Ian's dick twitch inside of him. He wasn't supposed to like the fact that they came together, Ian's hand going to Mickey's dick to catch his release in the palm of his hand.

They stayed like that for a while, Ian's forehead resting against Mickey's back as Mickey rested his own on his forearm where it was pressed against the door. His legs felt like jelly and he didn't know how the hell he was still upright, but he also didn't know why he wasn't pushing Ian off, why he wasn't standing up, cleaning up and then going about his business as usual.

"Fuck Mick," Ian muttered, his breath feeling hot against Mickey's spine.

Mickey smiled, "Bet you didn't get that in the fucking army."

Ian didn't reply, but he laughed and his arms tightened slightly around Mickey's torso, pulling them closer together. Ian was the first one to move, pulling out and throwing the condom into the trash on the other side of the room as Mickey pulled up his trousers.

He watched as Ian washed the jizz he'd caught off of his hand, wiping it on his jeans afterwards.

His shirt was still off and Mickey couldn't tear his eyes away from the firm muscles of his stomach. He hadn't quite realised Gallagher had bulked up that much. He looked good, there were no two ways about it.

Mickey blinked with Ian started to fidget and noticed the blush creeping across the redhead's cheekbones. "What?" he asked.

"I hate it when people stare at them," he muttered, not looking at Mickey and scratching one of the scars on his side. Just like Mickey had thought, just like he had felt, one side of his body was littered with pink lines, some of them more jagged than others and Mickey knew that was because the barbed wire must have had to have been pulled out of Ian's skin in places.

"I'm not," he replied honestly, except he could see that Ian didn't believe him.

"Mick, I know you were and I don't blame you or anything, it's sort of understandable," he muttered, looking around for his shirt, but Mickey was closer and swiped it up off the floor before Ian could, "What are you doing?"

Mickey rolled his eyes. "You don't understand shit, Gallagher," he said, taking a step closer and tucking the shirt into the back of his belt, "So let's get one thing straight, shall we?"

Ian looked nervous, fidgeting again, obviously wanting his shirt back so he could cover up.

Smirking, Mickey took another step closer. "I don't give a shit about the scars," he said, looking Gallagher in the eyes when he spoke, "As far as I'm concerned they were a given when you went off to fucking war." He took another step, now only a foot left between him and Ian. "And for the record, I wasn't looking at them then, I was looking at you, because scarred or not, you got fucking hot."

And he knew that was probably the nicest thing he'd ever said to anyone, but he didn't particularly care if it was out of character at that moment because he just hated the way Ian was fucking looking at him.

What he also hated was how much he enjoyed the smile that spread across Ian's lips.

"You look at me like that when we get out there, I'll fucking tear your nuts off, you understand me?" he said sharply as Ian took the half step that closed the distance between them.

It annoyed him that Ian didn't even respond, just rolled his eyes and pushed his fingers into the back of Mickey's hair. "Yeah, I still care about you too," he muttered, stopping Ian from punching him by pressing their mouths together.

_Ah fuck it_, Mickey thought, _I'll punch him for that later._


End file.
